I had to have Jenny from research and records repeat what she’d said twice when she called to tell me the sketch had been matched to David Tremblay. She would have called to tell me anyway, since Mack and I are on the case, but since David also came up as a known acquaintance of mine, she was trying to keep the information on the down low for me until I figured out what to do. David and I have been friends since we were kids. So, I won’t rush out and bring him in for questioning unless I’ve got evidence that is solid as fuck, along with equally airtight backup evidence.
I know that facial recognition identification from a sketch isn’t always one hundred percent correct. That said, there’s a big part of me that thinks Paula Nelson must be incorrect with her recollection of what her abductor looks like and what she passed along to the sketch artist. But, according the Jenny, the sketch matched David’s face with most of the sixty-eight facial markers used in the identification process.
Meaning my best friend is trafficking humans in an illegal sex trade and hiding it from me. Which I’d like to believe is unlikely. Or he’s got a doppelgänger here in the city that’s out doing nefarious deeds. Which is possible. Or the FBI facial recognition software is faulty. Which is highly improbable. Leaving the more likely scenario being that Paula’s recollection of what this guy looks like is faulty.
I bow my head and send a silent prayer to the powers-that-be to make it that last option.
“Well, hey Reed, I didn’t know you were here!”
I look up and see Quinn Foster coming toward me behind the bar.
“Hey Quinn, how’s it going?”
Instead of answering, she looks at my beer and says, “Drinking on a workday? Naughty boy. Do I need to punish you?”
I laugh. My dick jumps a bit at her calling me a naughty boy and asking if she needs to punish me. Especially when she’s leaning over the bar in that tank top—her breasts all pushed up and begging for attention. I like Quinn. It’s obvious she likes me. But she dated David a while back.
I don’t know for certain that it would upset him or that he’d even care. If I remember correctly, they only dated for a few months. He brought her to a BBQ I was at and she and I hit it off. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was his date and I backed way the fuck off. I know that was one of their first dates. I just don’t remember how long they’d been seeing each other, or how much longer after that they continued to see one another.
All of which makes it too complicated for me to date Quinn. I need things in my life to be orderly and that situation is anything but. Plus, she’s loud, while I’m quiet. And she’s a lot to handle, for lack of a better descriptor. I would bore her in a matter of weeks. Maybe even days.
Plus, I don’t know if they ever slept together and I really don’t know how I feel about that. I’d ask David about it, but then he’ll know that I’m interested in Quinn and tell me that I can’t date her. Which will offset the power balance in our friendship. I hate when that happens and it’s not in my favor. And if I ask Quinn, she’ll know that I’m interested which would more than likely lead to us going out, in which case David would find out and get upset. Not that any of it matters if David is the guy in the sketch, because then I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. But I’m still leaning toward that not being the case, leaving Quinn off limits.
She reaches out and fingers my tie. “I like this tie. It’s a good color for you.”
My tie is beige. I doubt that beige is a good color for anyone. But I love the way her tits look when she leans over. And I like how it feels when her fingers brush across my chest as she reaches for my tie.
“We’re waiting for burgers,” I tell her boobs.
“Oh, yeah?” She leans back, and my eyes make their way back up to her face.
“Yeah, Mack’s in the restroom.”
“Mack is here,” he booms as he retakes his stool next to me, then takes over the conversation.
“Well, if it isn’t the big, bad Mack Murphy,” Quinn says, batting her eyes at him.
“If it isn’t the cute, little Quinn Foster,” Mack flirts back.
“You want a refill?” Quinn asks as Mack drains his beer.
“You read my mind, QT,” he says, passing his glass to her. Sometimes he refers to her as Q, and sometimes as cutie, which he says is QT, but that’s not her initials. They are QF, so I don’t understand the reference, but I also don’t correct him.
“Touch my tap and die,” Daria says to Quinn, appearing behind the bar.
“Aw come on. I’ve seen you do it, it’s just a lever you pull down.”
“You’re working here now, QT?” Mack asks.
“Yes, I am,” she says.
“Good for you,” he says then turns to Daria continuing, “I don’t mind a little head from QT.” Daria gives him a look that would scare the shit out of most men, myself included. But Mack just laughs. “You know, if she wants to pull my beer.”
Daria turns to Quinn and hands her the glass. “Okay, hotshot, pull the lever.”
Quinn takes the pint glass and practically skips to the tap station. “Which one?”
“The stout,” Mack and Daria both say then smile at each other.
Quinn points to each one, reading off the name, until she comes to the Russian Imperial Stout, and stops. “This one?”
Daria nods once.
Quinn sticks the glass under the spout and pulls on the tap, dancing slightly in place. Foam fills the glass. She turns to Daria. “Is this a trick?”
Daria laughs. “No. But there is an art to pulling a beer. Let me show you.” She grabs a clean glass and shows Quinn how to hold the glass to avoid the foam and pulls a perfect draft for Mack. “Now, this does not mean you can serve beer. You are still low on my totem pole. But at least now you know.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Quinn salutes Daria and tries to click her heels, they both laugh. Daria disappears for a moment and returns with our burgers.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I see the burger. I throw my tie over my shoulder and take a huge bite.
“Mmm,” I groan at how good it is. “You could make so much more money as a burger joint,” I say as a compliment.
“No, I couldn’t.” Daria laughs. I know she’s right; I have a feeling the bar does well, but she takes my statement for the compliment it was.
Mack finishes with his burger before I’m halfway through mine. By which time a few more customers have filtered in, some at the bar and some at tables. And a server is out on the floor.
“You good,” Daria asks him.
“I’m always good when you’re around,” he says. She throws a bar towel at him; it lands in the ketchup on his plate. She rolls her eyes and hands his plate to Quinn telling her to take it in the back.
I’d thought Quinn was kidding when she said she was working here now. So when she gets back, I ask her. “You’re really working here now?”
She smiles. “Yep.”
“How do you like it?”
“It’s still, like, my first hour here. But so far so good.”
It amazes me how happy she always is. I think that’s part of what draws me to her. Like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. Maybe David won’t mind me dating her once he’s married.
Hell, maybe he won’t mind now.
Not that it matters. I won’t ask.
Now is not the time. I need to get this case behind me before I can think about anything else, especially my personal life.
I look over at Mack and Daria talking quietly. She’s leaning on her forearms on the bar and he’s stroking her arm lightly with his pinky finger. You’d almost miss the touch if you weren’t looking for it. I always look for it. And it’s always there. I’ve asked him countless times why they aren’t together when it’s so obvious they have feelings for each other.
He always responds with some vague answer about it being hard with our jobs what they are. But I don’t buy it. Plenty of other agents marry and do fine. I know he’s not seeing anyone else, and he makes us come here for lunch at least once a week if not more. Maybe one day he’ll be honest with me about what’s going on. Until then, I’ll just keep looking for clues.